


I Drink the Honey Inside Your Hive

by wolfwithwoodenteeth



Series: Blood of the Dragon [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Bloodlust, Dry Humping, F/M, Sansa is a telepath, vampire!Jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-26 21:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10795080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithwoodenteeth/pseuds/wolfwithwoodenteeth
Summary: Jon is still learning to control his cravings. It would be going well, if only Sansa would stop following him around all day...





	I Drink the Honey Inside Your Hive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amymel86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/gifts), [Janina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janina/gifts).



> For the 'no excuses writing meme', prompt: before the beginning; fic: Zaldrizo
> 
> Since the story is full of flashbacks, it's difficult to establish a beginning, but this seemed like a fun scene to write. Enjoy!
> 
> Technically this was written for Amy's prompt, but since it's your birthday today, Janina: here's a gift!
> 
> Title from the Nine Inch Nails song 'Closer'

There it is again, her scent. Jon has always been able to smell her and all the others who live inside the walls of Winterfell, but this is different. For the last six moons he's been acutely aware of the blood that flows through all of their veins. The essence of it fluctuates in the air, pulsing to the deafening beat of their hearts pumping it through their bodies.

He's overwhelmed by his senses. It fills him and consumes him, at times drowning out all capability of rational thought. Sometimes he cannot even go through the motions of his day-to-day life in the Keep. He has to retreat to the Godswood or some forgotten corner of the castle to make it through the day. Unfortunately he cannot always manage to avoid people. And sometimes he loses control.

It's not the bloodlust itself he acts on when that happens. It's the rage. Day after day he has to pretend he's no different from every other person here. He needs every last ounce of self-control to not let his instincts take over and become the beast his heightened sense have awakened inside of him. Sometimes it all becomes too much and he snaps.

The first time it happened he'd almost beaten Theon to a bloody pulp and he was ready to rip his throat out. He felt something being swept around his neck, burning his flesh and he passed out. He woke up to Father's sad and disappointed face.  _"I'm sorry,"_ he whispered,  _"I should have told you sooner. You're already six-and-ten. I thought- I hoped the maester was wrong."_

And then Father told him the truth. Jon didn't want to be believe it, still wishes he could deny it, but he cannot escape it. It's there when he sees his own reflection in the looking glass. He cannot even pretend it's not real, because it's always there, inside of him, and he needs to learn how to control it. Ignoring it will not make it go away, it would only get worse.

The blood helps. It soothes him and keeps the monster at bay for a while, but it's never enough. It never lasts, too soon the cravings return. " _It will get better,"_ maester Aemon told him.  _"You're still so young."_

Father smuggles in the girls from Wintertown and Jon feeds on them. Father pays them and Jon compels them to forget. He tries to be kind and gentle with them. He learns quickly, finding out he can make the feeding more comfortable for them, that he doesn't need to hurt them. Soon he's mastered the level of control that assures the maester he's not at risk of killing them in the process.

He could go to Wintertown by himself now, but he doesn't. He cannot explain to Father it's because the feedings awaken other needs in him, but he suspects maester Aemon knows. Another man might think it convenient to be in a brothel when that happens, but Jon refuses to use a woman like that. There is no honour in such an act. So instead, he retreats to his chambers and takes himself in hand, often finding multiple releases during those nights. Still, he wonders whether paying a whore to take her blood isn't worse than using her in the way the other men who frequent the brothel do.

He won't risk it however. He's too afraid that he won't be able to control himself and will end up hurting or even killing the girl. How could he live with himself if that happened? How could he ever look Father in the eye again? He's sacrificed so much to hide the truth and to keep Jon safe. He won't disappoint him anymore than he already has. He won't bring any shame to the Stark name, even if he is not worthy of it himself.

Despite everything, he's doing well. At times he even allows himself to become comfortable enough to forget what he is, but then he'll turn around and she's there. Sansa. The scent of her blood is the most intoxicating thing he's ever smelled. It's luscious and vibrant; it's sweet and salty and tangy at the same time and it makes his mouth water and his gums hurt.

He wants her. He wants to bury his nose in all the warmest and softest spots on her body to breathe her in. He wants to explore her skin with his tongue, savouring every last inch of it before he can sink his fangs into the perfect spot and let the sweet release of tasting her blood take him.

Blood is blood, it shouldn't make any difference whose blood it is. Yet his desire for her is so distinctly different that it terrifies him. He needs to stay away from her, can't risk being around her. One moment of weakness could be enough.

It's a powerful vision and it scares him, but it's not just that he's afraid of what he might do, he's ashamed as well. Imagining what it would be like to drink her blood has him sobbing in sweet agony, and worse, it travels straight to his groin and makes him as hard as Valyrian steel.

He thought it would be easy to avoid her. They never used to spend much time together anyway, but suddenly she's everywhere. She's never far when he stays inside the Keep, so he starts to spend even more time outside. Still, wherever he goes, she's there too.

She watches him when he's sparring in the training yard. She even follows him into the Godswood. At first he thought it was a coincidence and nothing more, but after a moon's turn, he knows it's not. And now she's there again. Her scent drifts in as she opens and closes the door of the Sept.

The harvest feast is coming up and Jon wanted to avoid the bustle of preparations. It's more difficult to keep all his urges under control when there are so many people around. He decided to take refuge in the Sept, because he was certain no one would be there right now.

Yet here she is. He can hear her pausing at the entrance, can almost see her glancing around.  _Is she looking for me?_

She won't be able to see him. He's hiding behind one of the statues. He didn't bother to look which one. To his surprise she sits down on the other side of it and starts humming quietly. Jon tilts his head back, closing his eyes. Her low singing sends the oddest vibrations through his body. His mind starts drifting to the images he sees at night when he's fisting his cock. 

Suddenly the rage starts bubbling in his chest. What is he doing? It's not his fault, she shouldn't be following him around like she is. But she doesn't know. How could she know? It doesn't matter. He should get out of here. If he's fast enough, she won't notice a thing.

He's on his feet and almost at the door when her voice stops him. "Jon? Please don't leave."

He turns to face her, staring at her in disbelief. She's sitting there cross-legged, an embroidery hoop in her lap, blue eyes wide and pink lips slightly parted. "How did you know I was here?"

Sansa shrugs and bites her lip.  _Stop doing that!_ "I needed to get away from all those people. What were you doing in here?"

He's vaguely aware he's slowly inching closer to her. "I needed to get away as well."

She nods, as if she actually understands and murmurs: "I thought you'd be in the Godswood."

His surprise at her request had somewhat subdued his anger, pushing it to the back of his mind, but it returns abruptly and twice as vicious now.  _Why can't you leave me alone?_ "Why did you come here?"

She looks down at her lap, focusing on her embroidery. "I was looking for you."

"Why?"

She's biting her lip again and his gums are throbbing at the sight. He needs to swallow back a mouthful of saliva. 

"I need you. Sometimes being near you is the only thing that's keeping me sane."

He doesn't know what he expected her to say, but it wasn't that. It confuses him, which only invigorates his fury. "I don't _want_ you anywhere near me!"

She freezes, but quickly collects herself and continues pulling her needle and thread through the fabric in her lap. "Please, Jon, you don't understand!"

The quickening beat of her heart and the sound of her blood rushing through her veins fills his mind. A purple haze is starting to cloud his eyes and he roars: "I don't care!"

She gasps and stifles a sob, tears glistening in her shocked eyes. Perhaps it would have been enough to melt away his rage, if her needle hadn't slipped and broken the skin of her forefinger at the exact same moment.

He's kneeling in front of her, grabbing her wrist to bring her hand to his mouth. His tongue darts out and licks the small drop of blood from her fingertip. He groans. She tastes even better than he imagined. He closes his lips over her finger and sucks. It's only a small wound and there's not enough blood.

He pulls back then and sees her face. She's staring at him with wide eyes, her mouth hanging open.  _Fuck._ He leans in slowly, until their faces are only an inch apart.  _Focus._ "Sansa," he purrs and her eyes meet his. "You'll forget about what happened. You came to the Sept to pray. You stayed here for a while until you decided to head back to the Keep."

She surprises him then by clasping a hand over her mouth and giggling. "Don't worry, Jon. I won't tell. I'm smart enough to make up an excuse by myself."

All he can do is stare at her. _Why isn't it working?_ Her blood is calling out to him, luring him in and he can feel his cock growing hard in anticipation. This has never happened to him before. Normally his baser needs only emerge after a feeding.

Tentatively she reaches out and traces his lips with her middlefinger, moving her hand up to brush her thumb under his eye. He holds his breath, trying to tune out the sound of her heart. Her touch sends a searing tingle through his skin.

His eyes are drawn to her cheek, where her tears have painted an uneven line leading to the corner of her mouth. He leans in to trace it with his tongue. She turns and their lips meet. He tries to hold still as she kisses him and fails. He falls back against the statue of the Maiden and pulls her with him and into his lap.

Her hands come to rest on his shoulders and his settle on her waist. She pulls back and he nuzzles her neck, inhaling deeply. "Still nothing," she says, sounding disappointed. That intrigues him, so he decides to focus on that, before he loses control completely and gives in. "What?"

"I thought I might be able to hear you if I kissed you."

He looks up at her face, frowning. "Hear me?"

She's smiling. "I always knew you were different. I'm different too. I can hear people's thoughts."

He gulps. So she knows about his darkest and deepest depravities. He shouldn't ask, but he does anyway. "Can you hear mine?"

Her smile is sad now. "No," she begins and shifts in his lap, making him groan and bury his face in the crook of her neck again. His nose skims up and down the length of it as she continues: "That's why I need you. But I'm still curious."

He lets his hands slide down to her arse to lift her as he rises to his feet and pushes her up against the Maiden's legs. She yelps, but one hand clutches his shoulder as the other cards into his hair. Her legs are wrapped around his hips and he pins her to the stone with his body, pressing his hardness into her core, which is sizzling hot even through the layers of clothing separating them. When he shifts her to find a secure hold, it causes such delicous friction he breathes into the skin of her neck as he repeats the motion: "I need you too. I want-"

He doesn't get a chance to express his desires, as a low moan escapes from Sansa's lips. Her fingers dig into his shoulders and pull at his hair and he's lost. His lips part over the throbbing vein in her neck and his fangs sink into her. She shrieks and for a moment he thinks she's struggling against him, but she's not. She's pulling him closer and trying to cant her hips. He rocks into her as her blood gushes over his tongue and down his throat. She's exquisite, so gratifying, but still enticing as well.

The taste of her on his tongue has him ascending to that high that comes with feeding, as her body is pushing him toward another kind of release. He doesn't feel the frenzy or the rage. He's not out of control, he is floating. He's inside her and she's filling him up, permeating every fiber of his being. He's tethered to her, yet he's free for the first time in his life. 

She's pulling and pushing at him, her entire body tensing up as her breathing becomes ragged and shallow. She's clinging to him so desperately it should hurt and then she cries out and shudders, before going limp in his arms. The beast inside him lets out a satisfied howl at the feeling of being satiated and he peaks, spilling his seed inside his breeches. He's blind and deaf as he collapses with her on top of him.

He holds her as she lies still on top of him, gently lapping at her neck to seal the marks his fangs have left there. She's quiet and so is he. He wants them to stay that way forever. He can't bring himself to regret this, but he's afraid of what he might see in her eyes, so he doesn't make any attempt to move. He only allows his fingers to trail up and down her spine as he stares up at the marble above them.


End file.
